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IDYLS OF THE YEAR. 



Gather a shell from the strown beach, 
And listen at its lips: they sigh 
The same desire and mystery. 

The echo of the whole sea's speech" 



Idyls 

of 



The Year. 



JAMES PHINNEY BAXTER. 



PORTLAND: 

HOYT, FOGG, AND DONHAM. 

1884. 



.B3l3 



Copyright, 1884^ 
By James Phinney Baxter. 



60 5163 

FEB 17 1941 



Snffatrsils JJrtss: 

JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

Flood ii 

March 15 

The Flight North 17 

April 21 

Spring 23 

May 25 

Crescendo 27 

June 29 

Dolce far Niente 31 

July 35 

Summer 2>7 

August 39 

The Herd-Bells 41 

September 45 

Autumn 47 

October 49 

Miserere 51 

November 53 

Decrescendo 55 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

Page 

December 59 

Winter 61 

January ^t^ 

The Alchemist 65 

February 69 

Ebb 71 



IDYLS OF THE YEAR. 



IDYLS OF THE YEAR. 



FLOOD. 



OUT from the east, O sea ! 
Dawn's kisses still aglow 
Upon thy breasts of snow, 
Thou flowest unto me. 

The echo of a song, 
Whose meaning hearts translate 
To suit each fleeting state, 
Thy billows bear along. 

To one a dirge it seems. 
Leaving a trace of pain ; 
To one a sweet refrain. 
Bringing elysian dreams. 



IDYLS OF THE YEAR. 

But unto me, O sea ! 
Thy song majestic swells 
With triumph which foretells 
Things glorious to be. 

For all my buoyant hopes 
Are ships, with every thread 
Of snowy canvas spread, — 
Slant masts, and straining ropes. 

They come, — a gallant fleet, 
Bound home from Orient ports. 
Laden with richest sorts 
Of merchandise, I weet. 

No spoil of land nor sea. 
Nor handiwork of art 
Treasured in costliest mart, 
But hither comes to me. 

Borne upon ideal ships 
With sails more light than air. 
And pennons passing fair, 
Unkissed by zephyr's lips. 

12 



IDYLS OF THE YEAR. 

Richer than sceptred king, 
All things are made for me, 
On land, in air and sea ! — 
I can but sing. 

13 



MARCH. 

A HUNTSMAN, keen of sense and brain, 
Reins his rough steed upon the plain, 
And scans the sunless wastes again. 
The bitter blasts beat all in vain ; 
He heeds them not, but eye and ear 
Strains as to catch in earth or sky 
A glimpse of something drawing nigh, 
Or haply some familiar cry. 
Amid the chaos drear. 

No joy is under heaven, for bare 
Is earth of beauty everywhere ; 
A thousand pools in fields once fair 
Freeze in the sun, and earth and air 
The wail of wandering streams repeat. 
No harbinger of Spring is near, 
Save when the sea-birds' voices drear 
Float earthward, as they ever steer 
Northward on pinions fleet. 

15 



THE FLIGHT NORTH. 

WHEN the huntsman March, off flinging 
With free hand the storm- wind's jesses, 
Frowns the whipster Spring off, bringing 
Summer's breath upon his tresses. 
Swayed as by some strange delusion, 
Rise the flocks in mad confusion, — 

Rise from bayous and savannas, 
Fens and marshes, where unbending 
Cypresses their dismal banners 
Wave through mazes never ending, 
And to northlands waste and dreary 
Sweep on wings which never weary, — 

Sweep on wings of fury, driving 

On through measureless expanses, — 

'Gainst the shrieking tempest striving, 

2 17 



IDYLS OF THE YEAR. 

'Gainst the storm's bewildering lances ; 
All the welkin with their thrilling, 
Melancholy voices filling, — 

Sweep on wings resistless, keeping 
But in view their peerless leaders ; 
Sweep o'er town and hamlet sleeping. 
Leagues of moaning pines and cedars ; 
Sweep through starry realms and regions 
Desolate, in ghostly legions, — 

Sweep to those dim shores deserted. 
Ope to prying eyesight never. 
Where with purpose undiverted 
The shuddering needle points forever, 
And above their beaches haunted 
Cynosura hangs enchanted. 

Welcome, plumed hosts ! A greeting 
To you all, O boisterous comers ! 
All your windy wings are beating 
Symphonies which tell of Summer's 
Swelling streams beneath the swinging 
Willows ever softly singing. 
i8 



IDYLS OF THE YEAR. 

Aye, ye harbinger sweet Summer's 
Untold blisses ; and a greeting 
Waft I unto you, O comers 
From the southlands, ever beating 
With wide wings the dim expanses, 
Like a dreamer's shadowy fancies, — 

Fancies urged with aspiration 

For some fairer good, some distant 

Eden hid from observation, 

Whither evermore persistent 

Strive they winged of strong endeavor, 

Strive unsatisfied forever. 

19 



APRIL. 

WITH shambling gait and vacant smile 
Of mingled innocence and guile, 
A loutish ploughboy climbs the stile, 
Whistling a dubious tune the while. 
And lingers by the sluggish pool, 
Where, safe behind their rushy screen. 
The nimble frogs in jackets green 
Dodge the stone shied with awkward mien, 
And jeer exultant, " Fool ! " 

On airy hills he hears the bleat 
Of fleecy flocks ; and, softly sweet, 
In vales where shade and sunlight meet, 
The robins each new-comer greet ; 
And, as one hoodwinked, here and there 
With e'er uncertain feet he strays. 
By sunny homes and gloomy ways. 
And laughs and weeps with every phase 
The changeful scene may wear. 



SPRING. 

WHILE from the pearly ports of morn 
The gales with odorous secrets crept, 
And, whispermg of southland blisses, 
In vernal valleys wept, 
Pampered with Beauty's kisses, — 
A bright-eyed wayward thing, 
Wanting but elfish wing 
To leave the world forlorn, — 
Lo, Life passed as an infant Eden-born, 
Tripping it laughingly through budding bowers, 
And from a golden horn 

Scattering on Pleasure's pathway fairest flowers, 
Carolling fleetly, 
Blithesomely, sweetly : 
" Time is to Pleasure 
A charmed cup of joy; 
Duty would measure 
But to destroy," 

2^ 



MAY. 

FROM a green osier in the sun 
Tossing bright bubbles one by one, 
She sees with glee her gay worlds, spun 
From vapory light, their cycles run. 
Her flute-like laughter all the day 
With witchery fills the balmy air. 
Which toying with her sunny hair 
Weaves many a flossy toil and snare 
For loiterers by the way. 

In meadows veiled with misty light 
She hears the herd-bells with delight, 
And the mad mirth of brooks which smite 
The lagging wheels to swifter flight ; 
While the lark, lost to earthly gaze, 
With music fills the heavenly leas. 
Luring her thoughts to haunts of ease. 
Where isles of pearl on azure seas 
Float in a dreamy maze. 

25 



CRESCENDO. 

FROM sunlit wastes of tropic seas, 
With misty sails which catch the breeze 
In sheeny splendor, comes the Spring, 
Rapt in prophetic dreams 
Of coming marvels, whose foregleams 
Invade her magic ring. 

Through Nature's silent sorrow breaks 

An inspiration that awak'es 

The broods of joy, which all the day 

Trill of the bliss to be ; 

While Winter's mystery silently 

Trails its white robes away. 

Then, through the fringes of the rain. 

Sun-smitten into life again 

Loom the lost hills ; and all the streams, 

With gossip brimming o'er. 

Arouse the drowsy woods once more 

From their enchanted dreams. 

27 



IDYLS OF THE YEAR. 

And ever drift the clouds from view, 
And gather skies a deeper blue ; 
And breathing still of fairer days 
The breezes softly blow, 
Setting the torching buds aglow 
Along the leafy ways. 

Ah, happy days, wherein all things — 
The tree that buds, and rill that sings 
Are voiced with prophecies so sweet 
That thought is fain to run 
Beyond the bounds of sense and sun 
The coming bliss to greet ! 
28 



JUNE. 

WHERE drowsy willows nod and sigh, 
An angler by a brook doth lie j 
Upon his hook a painted fly, 
A dream's soft shadow in his eye : 
Thus like a charmed prince he seems 
Destined a glorious prize to win, 
Which, like a jewelled javelin, 
Poised as in air on quivering fin, 
Before his vision gleams. 

With purest blue the blissful sky 
Pavilions him right royally. 
Sometimes an oriole flames on high. 
Or bee impetuous sparkles by, 
Or bobolink ecstatic flings 
Bubbles of music on the air : 
And so he gathers everywhere 
All sparkling joys together there. 
Like pearls on silken strings. 

29 



DOLCE FAR NIENTE. 

THE day o'erbrims with splendor like a rose ; 
No hint of storm is in the far-off sky ; 
I watch the blue sea as it comes and goes 
Beneath my eye. 

Toward the mirroring waters slowly dips 

The broad-winged gull, and, rising, seaward glides ; 

Toward the city toil the laboring ships 

On favoring tides. 

There comes to me the tumult of the keys, 
The murmur of the marts, and scents which bear 
Me into zones where every passing breeze 
Is a sweet snare, — 

A lure to languor. Ah, but what of this ! 
I must the sweet spell shatter, and away ; 
And midst the mart's moil, where gray Duty is, 
Wear out the day : 

31 



IDYLS OF THE YEAR. 

For Duty saith, " Life is too real a thing 

To waste in worthless ways. For bread men 

moan, 
For soul and body, bread. 'Twere shame to 

bring 
Them but a stone." 

I glance down shamefaced-wise. "Tis true," 

I sigh; 
Then goldenly the sun gilds dome and spire. 
And then an oriole goes sparkling by, — 
A winged fire, — 

And a fair city of a long dead day 

Beameth before me, and the gleam of gear, — 

Broad shield, and billowy plume, and bannerel 

gay, 
And lissome spear, 

Leashed hound and hooded hawk, and rare-robed 

dames. 
And knights who curb tall steeds ; and to my ear 
"Sir Launcelot ! Sir Galahad!" — glorious 

names — 
The soft winds bear. 



IDYLS OF THE YEAR. 

And the sound stirs my soul as doth the air 
A slumbering lyre ; and, come whatever may, 
Am I lost to the world and all its care 
For one brief day ; 

And gathering glory in the tourney field 
Will I forget my time, and be as one 
Who weareth mail, and beareth lance and shield 
Till set of sun, 

And winneth glance of damosels whose lips, 
As they would fain be kissed, smile down on him : 
For thoughts skim silent centuries, as swift ships 
The oceans skim. 

So will I have one joyous holiday, 
Despite of men and marts and merchandise, — 
A little tide in pleasant fields to stray, 
'Neath cloudless skies. 

3 33 



JULY. 

SHE comes from sunlands all aglow, 
A gipsy queen with torrid brow 
And swarthy locks, which to and fro. 
Like roving clouds, the hot winds blow. 
Along the dusty lane she strays. 
Where sunflowers flaunt their garish charms. 
And locusts pipe their shrill alarms. 
While wandering passions e'er in arms 
Meet in her ardent gaze. 

Beneath the splendor of her eye 
Their fragrant toil the scythemen ply ; 
Yoked in the shade the oxen lie. 
And burdened bees go droning by : 
But memories swift each other chase 
With passionate tumult through her brain, 
And, fusing into one fierce pain. 
Burst forth in tears like wasting rain 
To mar her lavish grace. 

35 



SUMMER. 

THE ruddy sun was on his azure throne ; 
The gales had wandered to a bourn unknown, 
Leaving no sound except the tedious drone 
Of bees to fill the ear. 
There was no thing so clear 
But that it grew indefinite and far ; 
The woody hills, — to eager vision, bar, — 
Seemed into golden haze to melt away, 
And the plains sleeping near 
Seemed even doomed as they, — 
Conjuring fantasies of yellow sands 
And shrunken runlets, where the desert-bands 
Sink down, and for relief in madness pray. 
Then Life went by as one — 
A youth of strong desire, 
Whose spirit would aspire 
To find a thing unknown — 
Seeking forever, through the world so wide, 

* 37 



IDYLS OF THE YEAR. 

Ever unsatisfied, 
Murmuring slowly, 
With voice melancholy : 
" Pleasure, ah, linger ; 
Heed not, I pray. 
Duty's stern finger 
Warning away." 



38 



AUGUST. 

FROM Afric's shores a waif unknown, 
On the hot sea-beach lying prone — 
Snared in a dream — he seems as one 
By scorching whirhvinds hither blown. 
Over him glare bewildering skies, 
Seethed in the fogs of hidden bays, 
Whence, ever in mysterious ways. 
Great ships from lurid shrouds of haze 
Like ghosts a-sudden rise. 

Within his dream's warm zone, again 
The wonders of Sahara reign, 
Where blazing sun and fiery plain 
Devour the patient camel-train. 
And simooms wave their glowing wings 
Along the horizon's shores of light, 
Like red flamingoes taking flight 
To some oasis of delight 
Watered by lucent springs. 

39 



w 



THE HERD-BELLS. 

HEN faint and far the evening star 
Through vapory veils is softly burning, 
From pastures sweet, with noiseless feet 
The tardy cows are home returning ; 
While all their bells melodious swing together, 
In concord with the blissful summer weather. 

Ah, no less clear doth memory hear 

Across the withered years their tinkle. 

Where youth's bright rose no longer glows, 

And fairest things bear stain and wrinkle ; 

Still, still they blend their sweetest notes together. 

Accordant with that far-off summer weather. 

Oh, blessed eves, when through the leaves 
Sifted the moons their silver treasures ; 
With nought to jar, from earth to star, 
On Nature's perfect rhythmic measures ! 

41 



IDYLS OF THE YEAR. 

How softly then the herd-bells chimed together ! 
How endless seemed the cloudless summer 
weather ! 

How calm and gray the broad fields lay, 
And orchard lawns with shadows haunted ! 
Aye, ear could tell where softly fell 
A purple plum through glooms enchanted ; 
While in the dusky silence throbbed together 
The tuneful bells in that still summer weather. 

And near and far a winged star 
Flickered athwart the level meadows ; 
And weirdly beat their cymbals sweet 
The locusts in the thickening shadows ; 
While in the farmyard swung in tune together 
The sweet bells in the balmy summer weather. 

Ah, yes, how clear doth memory hear. 
Blown o'er the chill wan years, their tinkle, 
When age's snows hide youth's warm rose. 
And all things dear bear stain and wrinkle ! — 
Ah, yes, with silver tongues they sing together 
Of all the bliss of that far summer weather. 
42 



IDYLS OF THE YEAR. 

And to our ears in heavenly spheres 
Shall these sweet sounds for sweeter perish ? 
May bells ring there 'mid scenes more fair 
Than these which we so fondly cherish, — 
Wherein the silvery herd-bells chimed together, 
In concert with the blissful summer weather ? 

43 



SEPTEMBER. 

SHE sits beneath her vine-wreathed eaves 
Shrined like a saint, and ever weaves 
A fantasy of glowing leaves 
And flowers and fruits and gleaming sheaves ; 
And looking out from calmest eyes 
With a Madonna's pensive air, 
Matronly-wise through coming care, 
She seems a peaceful charm to bear 
From teeming Paradise. 

With mystery of change opprest, 
She scans at times the dreamy west, 
Where golden floods the reapers breast. 
And bobolinks with sombre crest 
And altered note their clans array ; 
Blending her soft sighs with the coo 
Of sorrowing doves, to find no clew 
To secrets which like sparkling dew 
Hide from the fairest day. 

45 



AUTUMN. 

THE day was passing like a hunter hale 
A-west, with night upon its trail ; 
The bay was teeming with unnumbered sails 
Swelling with homeward gales ; 
And from the shores which inland hfted, 
The sounds of rustling grain 
And odors of a bounteous fruitage drifted 
Out on the darkening main. 
Then Life appeared in affluence, proudly sweeping 
Through kingly thoroughfares, — 
Within his heart's closed coffers fondly keeping 
A worshipped wealth, — the sum of gilded cares, — 
Mournfully sighing. 
Yet conscience denying : 
" Duty would surely 
Scourge to the right, 
Could we securely 
Heed not its might." 

47 



OCTOBER. 

WITH blanket gay and painted face, 
Where glowers the pride of all his race, 
Barbaric in his gauds and lace, 
But with an air of sombre grace, 
He haunts the flaming hills, to meet 
The morning, — from his wigwam bright 
Of wind-blown clouds come forth to smite 
The lurking shadows of the night 
With arrows keen and fleet. 

Sometimes from clouds of brightest dye 

A spire's gold cross transforms the sky ; 

A silent eagle swings on high, 

Or forth a red fox ventures shy ; 

While from the lake's soft mist and gloom, 

Like a mysterious voice to warn, 

The loon's sad laughter thrills the morn, 

Leaving within his heart forlorn 

The chill of coming doom. 

4 49 



MISERERE. 

THE cheerless sun hangs low ; the harsh north 
wind 
Blows with a bitter breath from off the sea ; 
Brown are the southern slopes, where lately 

dinned 
The gauzy locust and the golden bee. 

The idle fishers as they seaward gaze 

Dream of the silvery spoil their nets have 

won, 
And fondly revel in the vanished days, — 
Fairer than when their glowing course was run. 

Their mazy nets drift useless on the gale ; 
Their boats along the barren shore are strown ; 
And but the billows' never-ending wail 
Beats on the ear in dreary monotone. 

51 



IDYLS OF THE YEAR. 

Gone are the ships which bore in Summer's 

prime 
The wealth of prosperous ports : a single sail 
Flits on the sea's dim verge a little time, 
Then fades and is forgot like some fair tale, 

And all is vacancy, — save when, maybe, 
A sea-bird hurrying through the falling night, 
In from the sterile pastures of the sea, 
Sweeps silent as a shadow 'thwart the sight. 

O fruitless earth ! O empty sky and sea ! 
O wailing waves ! O chill and bitter blast ! 
Where shall the doubting soul for comfort flee 
Till all this dreariness be overpast ? 
52 



NOVEMBER. 

CLASPING liis gains, whate'er betides, 
With shrill laconic speech he chides 
The failing light, and grimly bides 
The gloom which o'er the welkin glides. 
No joy can stir his sluggish veins ; 
Yet, as to catch some blissful boon — 
A scent, a taste, a sight, a tune — 
Of long-lost Summer, one sweet rune, 
Each torpid sense he strains. 

But the wild sea-fowl's wistful cry 
For sunnier shores drifts sadly by ; 
Scentless the globes of clover lie, 
And fruidess trees against the sky 
Stand stark and stiff; while everywhere 
Stalks a pale mystery, strangely still, 
From realms of air, whose presence chill 
Sends to his churlish heart a thrill, 
And stills each passion there. 

53 



DECRESCENDO. 

THERE is no splendor on the shadowy hills ; 
Their gauds of gold the woods no longer 
wear ; 
A dreamy haze the empty welkin fills, 
And reigns a strange sad silence everywhere, 



Save for the lonely bittern's wistful cry, 
From foodless marshes floating drearily, 
Or plover's fitful plaint borne shrilly by. 
Or wail of waves blown from the far-off sea. 



On yon bleak slope, by slowly freezing springs. 
The sluggish geese, by sudden instinct fired, 
Wave wide with clamorous cries their windy 

wings. 
As if to sunnier realms they fain aspired. 

55 



IDYLS OF THE YEAR. 

And in the pasture, comfortless and bare, 
Where shelter scant the shuddering birches yield, 
Pathetic in their patience, dumbly stare 
The huddling sheep across the snow-flecked field. 

Where erewhile lisped the willow all the day 
In sweetest mystery to the impassioned stream, 
A shivering skeleton stands stark and gray, 
The phantom of a once delicious dream. 

And listless drops the ash its beads of red 
From shrivelled fingers slowly, one by one ; 
As if the final orison were said 
For all the beauty which from earth has gone. 

Whither, ah, whither hath the Summer flown 
With all its wondrous witchery, all its bliss. 
Its roses' breath, its fields with beauty sown. 
Its sweet-voiced birds, its zephyr's balmy kiss, 

Its whispering woods, its sofdy psalming rills. 
Its clouds of pearl, its heaven's immeasured blue, 
The far-off splendor of its lucent hills. 
Its meadows lush with morn's enquickening dew? 

56 



IDYLS OF THE YEAR. 

Whither, ah, whither? There is no reply : 

The streams are tongueless, and the woods are 

dumb ; 
An unsolved riddle is the chill, gray sky, 
And from wan hills no cheering sign may come. 

Faith, following far, alone may garner hope 
From sunless fields, unfruitful and forlorn ; 
Alone may cast a certain horoscope, 
And bathe in sunshine of a day unborn ; — 

May look beyond the dim, uncertain hills 
Where Winter's ghostly garments faintly gleam, 
Discerning clearly through impending ills 
A Summer all of beauty brightly beam. 

57 



DECEMBER. 

SHE cometh like a pale surprise 
From the still cloisters of the skies, 
A mystic faith within her eyes ; 
And at lone shrines she sadly plies 
Her chilly beads with fingers thin ; 
While, like the dews from upper calms, 
To her rapt soul come voiceless psalms. 
Transforming with resistless charms 
The sorrows borne within. 

The heavens bring near their fields of gray. 
Where walks the moon's pale wraith by day. 
While crows flit patiently away 
To foodless fields in mute array, — 
Chill fields, where listless willows bide 
By shrouded ponds ; for all things wear 
A waiting look in earth and air, — 
A faith in something yet to bear 
Redemption far and wide. 

59 



WINTER. 

AND, lo, Life once again, 
As one from dross purged by affliction's 
flames 
Who long had toiled in pain 
Upon the rugged ways experience claims ! 
Wisdom was emblemed by his snowy hair, 
Stirred by the viewless air 
And glistening in the moonbeams as the sheet 
Shrouding the passing year. 
A tomb was at his feet. 
Yet smilingly he looked toward the skies. 
And whispered as to some white-winged surprise 
Flashing through vapor 
Of sense like a taper ; 
" Duty is surely 
Love's other name ; 
Reading them purely. 
Both are the same." 

6i 



JANUARY. 

A FAIR child by a glimmering sea 
Scanning the mute east wistfully, 
To catch a glimpse of sails blown free 
From wonder-ports, — such sails, maybe, 
As flit in dreams from ports of air, — 
A child of elfish mien and shy, 
Athwart the sheen of whose clear eye 
Oft light-winged visions softly fly, 
Leaving a glory there. 

The sea is dumb, the woods are still ; 
No fragrance steals from plain nor hill j 
From far-off isles, so white and chill, 
Of happy change no voices trill ; 
To him the universe is given, 
An ivory casket locked and sealed, 
Which to no key of sense may yield, 
But wherein pearls, like hopes congealed, 
Garner the tints of heaven. 

63 



THE ALCHEMIST. 

THE wrack drifts up the midnight sky, 
And veils the fihuy stars from sight ; 
The winds through budless branches sigh, 
Where whippoorwills beguiled the night. 
A cheerless end thou hast, Old Year, — 
O swiftly passing Year ! 

Bent as a crosier is his form, 
His wind-blown locks are thin and white ; 
O'er embers erewhile red and warm 
A crucible he clutches tight. 

Our wealth we cast therein, Old Year, — 

Our golden hopes, Old Year ! 

Unto his crucible we brought 

An argosy of cherished pelf; 

Such things as strong Ambition wrought, 

The gauds of pride, the love of self. 

We gave thee all our wealth. Old Year, — 
Our dearest wealth. Old Year ! 

5 65 



IDYLS OF THE YEAR. 

From these we fondly hoped to gain, 
Transmuted by his cunning arts, 
A jewel men have sought in vain 
By land and sea in royal marts. 

Our treasures turned to dross. Old Year, - 

To worthless dross. Old Year ! 

He gave us visions of lands and gold, 
Visions of triumph and of power, 
A thousand pictures of joys untold 
To brighten life's too fleeting hour. 

They were but phantoms, alas. Old Year, 

But idle dreams. Old Year ! 

Good sooth, a winsome wight was he. 
His face was fair to look upon ; 
His eye was bright, his glance was free. 
From all the world good-will he won. 

A noble friend thou wert. Old Year, — 

A flattering friend. Old Year ! 

But now he sits forlorn and pale, 
Like one whom many dreams enthrall, 
Nor heeds the sighing of the gale 



IDYLS OF THE YEAR. 

Nor shadows' ever thickening fall. 
Thy labor 's done at last, Old Year, — 
Thy weighty task, Old Year ! 

Over his crucible bends he still, 
Above the faded brands he bends j 
But, lo ! across the silent hill 
With glowing cheek one hither wends. 

All hail ! All hail ! O blithe New Year ! 

O happy, fair New Year ! 

All hail ! All hail ! There shall be brought 
To thy alembic offerings new : 
Such things as duty well has wrought, — 
Meekness and love, those jewels true. 
To thee shall all be brought, New Year, - 
Our soul's best wealth, New Year ! 

Then welcome, flattering Year ! In dreams 
We kiss thy garments' broidered hem ; 
For in thy bright alembic beams 
Even Happiness, that long-sought gem. 
The meed of Duty, bright New Year, 
Which all may win, New Year ! 

67 



FEBRUARY. 

WITH dainty step she softly goes 
Her beaming lattice to unclose, 
And sighs towards the south which glows 
With faintest amethyst and rose ; 
There lies the ideal land of calm, 
Whither her longing thoughts take wing, 
But only to return and bring 
Sweet promises, like birds of Spring, 
From meadows breathing balm. 

She hears awakening Nature greet 

The morn, which comes with welcome feet 

O'er snow-wreathed hills, while voices sweet 

Of wind-blown bells their joy repeat ; 

And, touched with hope, "Ah, soon," she cries, 

" The quickening voices of the rills 

Shall rouse to life the cheerless hills. 

And bloomless fields, and slumbering mills. 

With songs of Paradise." 

69 



EBB. 

I STAND at sunset watching 
• The ebbing of the sea, 
Hooded in sorrow, teUing 
The beads of memory. 

White wings in the distance flutter 
And disappear from sight ; 
A wreck's lank ribs, Hke spectres. 
On the beach stand stark and white. 

They move ! Nay, 't is the seaweed 
Just stirred by the evening wind, 
With which each shmy timber 
Is loathsomely entwined. 

Ah, where are the shapes of beauty 
That once entranced my soul. 
That sped with favoring breezes 
Toward their promised goal ? 

71 



IDYLS OF THE YEAR. 

I strain my vision seaward — 
I see but a misty plain ; 
And into the heavens above me 
I peer, but all in vain. 

I stretch my arms in silence — 
I clasp but senseless air ; 
I shout and get no answer, 
Though I die in my despair. 

I Hst the soft sweet rustle 

Of their silken sails to hear ; 

They are somewhere, surely somewhere, 

In this universal sphere. 

But never a sound comes to me. 
But the moan of the sea on the shore ; 
I have learned its utterance plainly, 
" No more — no more — no more." 

Ah, where are the shapes of beauty 
Which once entranced my soul, 
Which sped with favoring breezes 
Toward their promised goal ? 
72 



IDYLS OF THE YEAR, 

Shattered on reefs of coral, — 
Ah, treacherous reefs, so fair ! — 
Scattered on lonely beaches, 
And ledges sharp and bare ; 

Foundered in wastes unsounded, 
Burnt on some unknown sea, — 
They are gone with all their treasures, 
Forever lost to me. 

73 



University Press ; John Wilson & Son, Cambridge. 



DEC -~0 IS'/,/ 



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